Nightmare of a Timelord
by Kinners
Summary: Horrible premonitions of things to come haunt the dreams of the Doctor. Seeing such terrible things, can he ever have hope that such horrible fates can be avoided? And how long can he keep running from fate? (spoilers for seasons 1-4)


"I bring life."

Eyes aglow with the power of time, Rose lifted her hand and dissolved everything.

The Doctor toppled through the void, the final shrieks of the Dalek Emperor echoing eternally in his ears. The inconceivable nothingness swooped in instantly to suffocate him, blind him, even as he clawed futilely at anything to hold on to. Anything to verify that there was any definition to this, that anything existed besides the pain. Oh, the pain. Screaming, noiseless, falling, forever. Desperate, longing, crying, burning.

Dying.

Then he hit the floor, hard, wincing at the impact. The firmness of reality gave him a fresh surge of vitality, of assurance. He scrambled to his feet, observing in a grateful tick that he was in the Tardis' center console. Good-the Tardis never failed him. With a panicked pang in his hearts he remembered. He had to get to Rose. Having the whole of time in her head would burn her alive. And it was all his fault. If he hadn't brought her along in the first place, he wouldn't have jeopardized her life and all creation. The raw power would drive her mad...

...just like it had driven him.

All of eternity, all that has been and is to come, poured into his brain, constantly flashing before his eyes. A neverending stream of information, confusing and enlightening and terrible and beautiful all at the same time. How could he bring that upon anyone? How could he bring that upon his best friend? He couldn't. But where was she now? If he didn't find her and help her, all that burning determination inside him would be for naught. Frustration built and kindled what remained of his struggling hearts, giving him cause to heave himself up to his feet on the Tardis console. Everything, existence itself, was all so unfair, was all so indifferent. But he'd known that for too long to be daunted by that cruel fact now. He would find her and save her, find himself and save the world. He was the Doctor, that's what he did, and that's what he would keep doing.

Yet that one, flickering moment of hesitation foiled him.

The Tardis started up unexpectedly, bucking him off of his feet again. Sprawled on the floor, he helplessly listened to the alarms blaring and squinted at the flashing mauve lights. He struggled to get up, then loped clumsily for the doors, an unknown stinging scent plaguing his sinuses. It smelled like defeat.

Swinging open the doors, he almost ran headfirst into a blazing inferno.

"My children!" wailed the Raknoss, throwing her crested head back in agony. Fire raged all around, as water roared unfeelingly and alien death throes sounded piningly from the core of the earth. Throwing his arm over his face to keep out the smoke, his gaze was inexplicably drawn to a man he'd never seen before, standing far above on a fire escape. His face was impassive, yet deceptively so. For behind those still eyes flared an untamable anger, an inconceivable hurt that throbbed so badly that even the Doctor felt it below. Only a madman could bring such raw, intense power down upon anyone. Only a madman would feel it.

"Who _are_ you!?" he demanded, squinting up through the scalding heat and erratic light. The man looked down at him, his spiky brown hair flattened by the pouring indoor rain. Their eyes met. An atomic combustion. An impossibility.

That was himself.

The Doctor, a Timelord victorious.

"No!" he gasped. "Not me! How? What happened to you!?"

Shaking, the other Doctor mouthed one word at him.

Someone called up at the new Doctor. A redheaded woman, in a wedding dress-oh well, randomer things had happened. Somehow between the screams of the alien and the perpetual burning he understood what she was saying. She was telling him to stop. But why would he-the new he-listen to her, of all people? Why was it that only she, out of all the beings in the universe, could stop him? That wasn't fair.

Or safe, for anyone.

The other Doctor and the ginger vanished without a trace, leaving him and the Raknoss alone in the burning building. Infrastructure groaned under the strain, signalling an imminent collapse. Trying to forget what he'd seen, the Doctor turned and ran back to the Tardis, throwing open the doors.

All that greeted him was a flat wall.

"_No!_" he cried desperately, slamming his palms on the blank wall before him as if he could will his ship back into existence. He was losing track of how many times he'd said that. Thought that. One last time, he was powerless to save himself as the building ultimately came down in fire and pressure and pain. His scream was lost in the falling rubble, a final cry of a dying species, the last Timelord lost in the ruin.

Some things happen just too fast.

Then, the sensation of being crushed alive still fresh in his pulverized body, he found himself facing off with the Lord President, who was supposed to be dead. Apparently his subconscious had noticed, because he was aiming a handgun at him, clutching desperately with blanching knuckles. But despite the gun in his hands and the nagging in the back of his head, so far he'd seen a lot of impossible things, and he'd acquired a half-numb acceptance this far in. Behind the President were two other Timelords, haunts arisen from Gallifrey's grave, their eyes covered in shame. But who were they? How were they important?

One of them dropped her hands from her face and looked him in the eye.

He trembled in disbelief, the revelation of the woman Timelord somehow changing everything and shattering his foundation. He had to make an impossible choice, that much he knew. He could bring them all back and bring upon the universe a power he couldn't hope to control, or condemn them to a burning planet set aflame by none other than himself. But how could he make that decision? How could anyone choose between the life they'd missed and the life they'd found, the home they had and the home they'd lost? There had to be a way, he couldn't simply pick one or the other, existence as the world knew it was hanging in the balance of this one, stupid, heartless choice-

"Get out of the way."

Apparently he wouldn't have to make it.

Despite himself, he dodged to the right. A wrathful bolt of pure furious energy struck the President in the chest, causing him to stagger and lower his almighty glove. The Master stepped forward from behind the Doctor, the lightning arcing from the palm of his hand. Supernatural power granted to a lunatic. Again and again the Master shot the President full of voltage, stepping forward and screaming out his rage with every attack. Finally the Master and the President were face-to-face, one dying, the other avenging, both fading irrevocably before his eyes. Before they were returned to the dreaded Timewar with hell pouring into the skies, the Master looked back at his old friend, his last friend, the Doctor. They argued with each other with their eyes, demanded, pleaded, but they couldn't answer each other. The insanity in his eyes, the almost-there fear, the confusion, and above all one question, one impossible question-

-why?

_Why couldn't you fix it, Doctor?_

"_NO!_" He was vaguely aware of his own roar as it all faded to an intense, accusatory white.

Thousands of burning questions and aching truths whirled through his mind, hurting him with their complications. What am I doing? Why am I doing? How did it all fall so far? How can I fix it? Why can't I? How many have I hurt, how many are hurting, how many will I hurt? Who cared, who cares, who ever will? What have I done? What do I do? What will I do? Who will I be? How much longer? What matters? What doesn't? How should I know? Will I ever know? Why can't I know? Am I going in circles? Where have I gone? Where will I go now? Am I going to the light? Am I going to my doom? What will I remember? What won't I? What shouldn't I? Who did I used to be? Who am I going to be? Who can I be? Will I make it? Will I ever return? Am I dark-hearted or light? Did I ever know? Will I ever be one or the other? Have I changed? Will I? Can I? How much is left of me? How long will this darkness last? How can I stop this? What is this? What does it mean? Can I take one more step without everything falling apart?

_Doctor Who?_

* * *

"ROSE!"

The alarm in his voice woke her up as immediately as a bucket of ice down the back. The blonde sat straight up, groggy from sleep as she murmured a faint query. Rubbing open her sluggish eyes, she saw the silhouette of the Doctor in the lit doorway, his buzz cut and prominent ears identifying him instantaneously even in her half-consciousness. Squinting to adjust to the bright light flooding from the door, she tried not to notice that he was only wearing boxers.

"What? What is it?" she mumbled, confused at the midnight awakening. He observed her with furrowed brows, the calmness of her voice and her bedroom bringing home the fact that he must have been dreaming. If she had any idea what had just happened to him, she would be breaking down even worse than he was.

"I just...wanted to check on you," he apologized, leaning on the doorjamb and watching her distantly. He still couldn't shake the thralls of the nightmare, and human companionship soothed him better than anything. "I had a bit of a scare, that's all. A night terror, if you will."

"What, do Timelords have nightmares, now?" she asked goofily. He smiled, her all-too-human sass bringing him down to earth. "Blimey, you almost sound human. You're the Doctor. What could you possibly be afraid of?"

"You mean, you want to know what it was about? The nightmare?" he clarified, his brows furrowed as if he didn't know if he should tell her.

"Yeah. You can tell me, I'm too drowsy to comprehend anything at the moment." insisted Rose, rolling her eyes at herself. The Doctor frowned at himself, shaking his head as if to jog his mind awake.

"I...I can't seem to recall," he admitted, his brow furrowing. The petrifying fear and hollow despair were still there, but the actual events refused to rear their ugly heads again. "But something tells me that's a good thing. Whatever it was, if it's got me this worked up, it must have been one hell of a nightmare."

"Right," agreed Rose without comprehension, stifling a yawn. "If you're scared, I probably should be, seeing that you're the Duke of Clocks or whatever. Just go back to sleep, get some rest, yeah? Sleep it off."

The Doctor nodded, though his eyes were still distant and afraid. She was too tired to notice. Rose rolled over, adjusting her pillow and allowing her eyes blissful peace of dark. The Doctor shut the door as quietly as he could, exhaling heavily as he leaned on the door. What could be so horrible that his time-hardened mind had refused to remember?


End file.
